


The Final Catch

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: The Quidditch Chronicles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fights, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Sequel, The Press Harassing Harry TM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 00:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: Three years after their graduation, Harry's pretty confident that he got his happily-ever-after. He just needs to put a ring on it. And then, everything suddenly goes pear-shaped.





	The Final Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my dear readers! I'm so, so sorry this has taken me forever to finish! I haven't forgotten about this series. I just got caught up in my other series, and then my real life turned into a living hell and it just got pushed back in my list of priorities. Now, I found myself in a bit of a pit regarding my writing, and I stumbled over this again and found this was the perfect moment to finish it. 
> 
> I really hope you're still around to read it, and that it was worth the wait.
> 
> PS: I'm perfectly aware that the days of the week don't go with the year. Pretend for me, okay?

_ Sunday, 30th May 2002 _

 

Harry stepped out of the steamy bathroom, towelling off his damp hair before dropping the wet cloth into the hamper. In an afterthought, he muttered a wandless spell to open the bathroom window, making sure the room was properly aired. Draco would be cross with him all day if he forgot  _ again _ .

He then pushed through the door to the living room to find Draco sitting at the dining table, which was decked graciously with their usual breakfast. Draco, though, wasn’t eating. His face was hidden behind the  _ Prophet _ , and his shoulders were tense, a clear indication that something was very wrong. 

Harry sighed.

“What is it this time?” Harry said wearily. “Let me guess. Another spread about all the ways you’ve let me astray. Or are they insinuating an affair between you and Luna again? Because I’m not gonna lie, I enjoyed that one a lot.” No reaction. So it was serious this time, Harry thought grimly. “Draco?” he muttered softly, brushing gentle fingers against the back of his neck. 

Draco twitched and moved away from the touch. It was like a blow to Harry’s stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

Wordlessly, Draco handed him the paper. Harry frowned down, taking a moment until his eyes zoomed in on the article Draco had been reading. 

_ Rita Skeeter _ , Harry thought grimly before he’d even read through the headline.  _ Of bloody course. _

It was the same rot as always, really - this time, she had focused on what nefarious schemes Draco could possibly be cooking up at Gringotts, and had interviewed a series of doubtful sources that had reported on mysterious sightings within the wizarding bank, from allegedly confounded goblins to supposed disappearances of dark artefacts and one woman swearing she had been cursed while withdrawing money from her husband’s vault. 

“What utter nonsense,” Harry growled. “Honestly, doesn’t she ever get  _ bored _ of this stuff? No one even believes it.”

“You’d be surprised,” Draco replied. His voice sounded strained and thin, and Harry knew this wasn’t a good sign. He had lived with this man for the past three years. He knew all of his tells by now.

“Well,” Harry murmured, a little helplessly, drawing out his usual chair at the table and taking a seat. Draco still wasn’t meeting his eyes. Hard, grey eyes were fixed on the glass of French citrus preserve Narcissa had sent from Toulouse. “There’ll always be complete wankers, Draco. We always knew that. But in the whole-”

“There is no  _ ‘in the whole’ _ , Harry!” Draco spat, finally turning those steely, furious orbs on him. Harry flinched under the force of Draco’s anger. “Nothing has changed in the past couple of years, don’t you realise? I’m still that ex-Death Eater with his vile stakes on Wizarding Britain’s darling, and that’s the way it’s always going to be! They’re never going to think I’m good enough for you, and you’re not exactly helping!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded, immediately defensive, though he knew exactly what Draco was referring to.

“Three years, Harry!” Draco called, getting to his feet in clear agitation. “Three years of living together, and not  _ once _ have you spoken up for me in public! Not  _ once _ have you defended me against that  _ cow _ Skeeter or any of her lot!”

“You know I don’t speak to the press, Draco,” Harry ground out.

“Right,” Draco hissed, rather bitterly. “Of course.”

“It’s no use, anyway,” Harry argued, not caring in the least that he sounded petulant. “They never print what I say. You give them a finger, they take your whole arm, and your shoulder, too, while they’re at it. I’m not going down that road.” When Draco didn’t answer, Harry added: “Our relationship is ours, Draco. I’m not spreading it out in the media for everyone to see.”

Draco laughed at that, but there was no humour to it.

“Harry, it’s already out there!” he yelled. “Like it or not, everyone already has an opinion on it! All I want is for you to use some of your boundless influence on people to stop at least some of the hate mail that needs to be repelled from our apartment  _ daily _ , or vanish some of those ridiculous articles about my person in every publication imaginable!” He took a shaky breath, then he asked, a little more softly: “Is it really so incomprehensible, that I’d like my partner to stand up for me every once in a while?”

Harry gulped at that, feeling sick to the stomach. There was a long silence between them.

“But maybe you just don’t care enough,” Draco said, his voice suddenly flat. “To use your good name in my favour.” 

“What the hell, Draco?” Harry snapped. “You can’t honestly believe that!”

“What am I supposed to believe?!” Draco shouted. “All I know is that, if people were talking crap about you, you’d have to body-bind me or incapacitate me by some other magical means for me to stay silent! And yet, here we are! Three years later, and still, no word from you in my defence. Tell me, Harry, how am I supposed to interpret that?!”

Harry had no idea what to say to that. In the years since he and Draco had grown close, he had come to realise that one of his biggest weaknesses was actually finding the right words to convey his feelings comprehensively when it most mattered. Through their relationship, though, he had found other ways to communicate with Draco, and usually, they understood each other perfectly even without words. 

Not today, it seemed. 

“Then again,” Draco scoffed when Harry’s long silence brought forward no answers. “I always loved you more than you loved me, right? Maybe it’s stupid of me to expect any grand gestures.”

Harry felt cold at those words. 

“That’s not true,” he whispered, unable to breathe.

“Oh, but it is,” Draco shook his head, and his eyes were shining with moisture. “Pansy warned me. Blaise warned me. Mother warned me. But did I listen?”

“Well, they’re wrong!” Harry ground out, his voice strangled. He got to his feet shakily, reaching out for Draco, but the other man was backing away from him, shaking his head. 

“I need to-” 

Draco didn’t finish the sentence. There was a crack of an apparition, and then, Harry was alone in their Living-Dining-Kitchen. He stared at the spot Draco had just disappeared from, horror-struck. 

… What the bloody hell had just happened? 

Before Harry could even comprehend the situation he found himself in, the floo flared up, and relief swamped him.  _ He’s back,  _ he thought hazily.  _ Thank Merlin. _

But when he turned around, it wasn’t finely styled, blond hair he saw, but wild, bushy brown curls. Hermione smiled at him brightly as she brushed the ash off her clothes, oblivious to the way his face fell at the sight of her.

“Good morning, Harry! Is Draco around? I’m just here to pick up these books on alchemic uses of moonstone for that summit on international trade next month. He said I could come over and -” Her gaze locked on his then, and she paused, sharp brown eyes taking in his expression. “Harry, are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. His voice was rough. “Draco isn’t around, and I’m not sure which books you are talking about. So you might need to come back some other time.”

“What happened?” she asked, crossing the distance between them and putting a gentle hand onto his forearm. “What’s wrong, Harry?” 

Harry gulped. After all these years, it was still ridiculously easy for Hermione to read him.

“Draco and I had a fight,” Harry admitted. “He left about a minute before you arrived.”

Hermione grimaced in sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I’m sure you’ll work it out, though. You always do. What was the fight about?”

“Skeeter’s article in the  _ Prophet _ this morning,” Harry replied.

“Yeah, I read that one,” Hermione nodded, her face turning sour. “Charming woman, as usual.”

“Draco is angry that I haven’t made a public statement about him yet,” Harry explained miserably. “Or about our relationship in general.”

“Well,” Hermione began, then hesitated.

“What?” Harry asked, an edge to his voice.

“He has a point, you know,” she said, though her expression was careful. “It’s been  _ three years,  _ Harry! How long do you want to wait?”

“It’s not a matter of  _ time, _ Hermione!” Harry hissed, furious. “You know how the press is when it comes to me! They won’t be kind no matter what I do! There’s no  _ point _ in giving any kind of public statement! They’ll tear everything apart as they see fit, anyway!”

“You’re right,” Hermione sighed. “Of course you’re right. And I get it, Harry. You hate the press. But you’re  _ missing _ the most critical point in this aspect. It’s not important what people think. It’s what  _ Draco _ feels that matters.”

“But Draco is upset that people hate him!” Harry pointed out. “And I can’t make everyone change their mind, even if I try, Hermione!”

“No, Harry,” she shook her head, leaving a long-suffering sigh. “That’s not why he is upset. He’s upset because in all these years you’ve been together, you haven’t even made an effort to stand up for him publicly. To tell everyone to shut the hell up about the man you love. It doesn’t matter if they listen or not. It’s the principle of the action.”

And suddenly, Harry felt indescribably small and inappropriate. Because now he understood what kind of reaction Draco had been trying to provoke with his earlier words about him not being worth enough to Harry and Harry not loving Draco as much as the other man loved him. 

Which was ridiculous. Laughable, even. Draco had been his whole world for the past couple of years. Public statement or not, he had come home to Draco every night, had held him in his arms as they fell asleep and had woken to his soft, sleepy face. When Draco had been hurt by a stray curse at work last year, Harry had rushed home from a match with the national team in Venezuela to be by his side, angry teammates, coach and public be damned. Because Draco was the centre of his life, and everyone who couldn’t accept that could just kindly bugger off, as far as Harry was concerned. 

“He thinks I don’t love him enough to  _ bother _ ?” Harry ground out, giving a hollow laugh. “What the hell?!” And he stalked out of the room, into their bedroom, leaving a confused Hermione in his wake. When he returned, only a few moments later, having retrieved a little box from the bottom of his sock drawer, he thrust it at Hermione, calling: “ _ This _ is how much I love him.”

Hermione looked down at the small box drawn with velvet fabric now resting in her hands and back to Harry, her brown eyes wide. Then, she nudged the lid open, her movements hesitant. 

Inside rested a simple silver band, unremarkable if not for the engravings along the surface. Harry had never taken Ancient Runes, but the antique script held a position large enough in Draco’s life for him to choose them as markings for the ring anyhow. The runes for “love”, “devotion” and “eternity” were artfully twined across the circle of the metal. 

“Harry,” Hermione breathed, sounding actually choked up. 

“I was going to ask him on Saturday,” Harry pointed out, the fight slowly draining out of him. “It’s his birthday on Saturday. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Hermione just looked at him.

“Now he’ll think I’m just doing it to prove a point,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. 

“You can’t let him think that,” Hermione shook her head. 

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Harry demanded, frustrated. 

“Well,” Hermione said slowly. “If I were you, I’d contact Luna.”

Harry only stared at her, feeling slightly sick at the thought. Hermione gave him a look of clear sympathy and patted his arm. 

 

Harry waited all day for Draco to return home. When there was still no sign of him by dinner time, he bit the flobberworm and floo-called the Zabini’s. 

Both Pansy and Blaise informed him in no uncertain terms to fuck off (or else), which in turn told him all he needed to know about Draco’s whereabouts and his intentions of returning home for the night. 

Harry spent the rest of the evening miserably sulking on the sofa, hating the press and Rita Skeeter and everyone who couldn’t just let him live his life in peace. After everything he had done for the Wizarding World, you’d think he’d deserve some peace and quiet, didn’t you? But no. Apparently, that was too much to ask for.

He knew, though, deep inside, that this one was on him. He could blame the press all he wanted, but it was up to him to fix his relationship, and he had to do it now, before it was too late. 

With that thought in mind, he got off his arse and floo-called Luna. 

 

_ The Quibbler _ had flourished ever since Luna had taken over as chief editor last year, allowing her father to travel the continent in search of some imaginary beast or another. It was still a rather alternative magazine, mind you, but the turnabout was high enough by now that Luna had decided to add to its success by publishing a newspaper under the name of  _ The Quibbletorial. The Quibbletorial _ , which was released daily, mostly disputed the news the  _ Prophet  _ reported, which made it very entertaining to read at all times.

And, in this case, the perfect platform for Harry’s defence of Draco. 

Luna was ecstatic to have him for the interview. 

“It’s about time you put the poor boy out of his misery, Harry,” she told him cheerfully. “He’s been far too frustrated lately, and it’s been making him prone to Wrackspurt infestations. Last time I saw him, he was a mess, and we don’t want a repeat of last year’s accident, now do we?”

“We don’t,” Harry sighed, despite himself. The memory of Draco’s pale face in St. Mungo’s bedding was still horribly clear in his mind. 

“Glad we agree on that,” Luna smiled. “Now what do you want me to write?”

“Um,” Harry said, immediately uncomfortable. “You’ll report  _ exactly _ what I tell you, right, Luna? No artistic creativity or whatever they call it. I want no surprises.”

“Of course not, Harry,” Luna smiled. “We’re friends. You can trust me. You know that.”

“Right,” Harry nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay, here goes.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_HARRY POTTER BREAKS SILENCE ABOUT LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIP TO DRACO MALFOY_ **

 

_ By Luna Lovegood, Chief Editor _

_ Tue 01 Jun, 2002 _

 

_ In light of the continued public resentment against his life partner, Harry James Potter (21), star seeker of Pride of Portree and the English National Quidditch Team and known throughout the Wizarding World as The Boy Who Lived (or, alternatively, The Chosen One or The Savior), decided to make an exception to his usual ban on interviews regarding his private life and speak up about his relationship.  _

_ In an intimate conversation in the Chief Editor’s office, Potter spoke about growing close to Malfoy upon his return to Hogwarts after the end of the war and falling in love with him.  _

_ “I was in a dark place back then,” Potter admitted. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, and how to reconcile people’s expectations with my own feelings. Draco was different, somehow. I felt like he understood me. I could breathe around him.” Without Malfoy, so Potter, he would have been unable to face down his own demons and move onto the path of happiness.  _

_ “My life is a lot brighter now than it used to be,” Potter explained. “I’m doing a job I’m passionate about, and that doesn’t make me relive my darkest memories over and over every day. But most important is that, when things do get rough and my past does catch up to me, I know exactly where to turn to.” _

_ Because Malfoy, Potter pointed out, has enough demons of his own to be able to relate to everything he’s been through. “It doesn’t always make it easy,” Potter relented. “We’re both broken, in some ways. Both imperfect. But that’s what makes us fit together so well. Why we can support each other better than anyone else ever could. And besides - when is anything easy ever worth having?” _

_ It frustrates Potter that even after three years of relationship, the public still doesn’t accept Draco at his side. _

_ “He makes me happy,”  Potter disclosed. “I love him, not  _ despite _ of what he used to be, but  _ because _ of what he has become. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. And everyone who keeps insinuating that he somehow tricked me or cast some spell on me needs to check into the Janus Thickey Ward for some spell damage themselves.” _

_ When the Chief Editor asked Potter if he had any plans on following his two best friends’ example and leading Malfoy down the altar in the near future ( _ The Quibbler 2002/04  _ reported in length on the Weasley-Granger Wedding), Potter flushed attractively and laughed. “That part will remain private for now, if you don’t mind,” he grinned. “But I assure you that the public will have to get used to Draco at my side, whether they want to or not. Because he will stay there.” _

_ And that, in the Chief Editor’s opinion, is as clear a hint as it can get. _

_ \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

 

Harry looked up from the newspaper, flushed as scarlet as the Gryffindor house banners, but heaving a sigh of relief anyway. That really wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Sure, it was absolutely mortifying to read intimate details about their life spread out like this for everyone to see - but Luna had kept her word about reporting only what he’d actually said, and now it was out there, after three long years of silence. 

People were still going to deny his words, he was sure. They were still going to say Draco had him under some kind of dubious influence. That he didn’t know what he was saying. That he didn’t mean any of it. But that wasn’t the point, he reminded himself.

The point was that he had said it, and that he had made a stand for the person he loved.

He just hoped it hadn’t been too late.

With a heavy heart, he folded and rolled the newspaper back up, attaching a handwritten note addressed to Draco. It only read a few simple words. As always, words had failed him when he had sat the quill down to paper, but he hoped dearly that the interview would speak for itself.

 

_ I’m sorry. You were right. Please come home. I love you. - Harry _

 

“There you go, Iris,” Harry muttered, handing their owl the bundle to deliver. “Say hello to him from me.” 

The barn owl hooted softly at him before taking off through the open window. 

 

Harry would have liked nothing better than to sit around and wait for Draco’s return all day, but sadly, he had practice to get to, so he unwillingly got into his uniform and apparated to Portree. When he returned hours later, mud-caked and sweaty, their apartment was still silent and empty, and his heart sank.

“This means nothing,” he reminded himself, out loud. “He’s at work right now. He wouldn’t have rushed home the second he got your message. He’s got responsibilities.”

So he dragged himself into the shower and went about his day, trying very hard not to fret. After he had gone out for groceries and sorted everything away, he set out to do his usual household chores. It was the usual division of work between them at home - Harry, who was at home much more throughout the week than Draco, took it upon himself to keep the household running most of the time, and he tried to cook whenever he was able to, seeing that Draco often worked late hours and was absolutely hopeless in the kitchen. Draco, on the other hand, handled all their paperwork and what he jokingly called “adult responsibilities” because apparently, Harry couldn’t be trusted with them - though they both knew the real reason was that Harry got bored by these chores and would procrastinate if they were left to him. So, really, Draco regularly saved them from a pile of unanswered mail and accidentally unpaid bills. 

After Harry had finished dusting off even the last corners of their apartment and there was nothing left to occupy his mind with, he started on dinner, feeling tentatively optimistic. He knew that there was no telling if Draco would really turn up. But just in case, he wanted to be prepared. 

When the potatoes au gratin - one of Draco’s favourite dishes that he’d had to learn especially from one of the Manor elves - was in the oven, there was nothing left to do but wait. Harry unwillingly drew out a chair and sat down at the table, throwing a furtive look at the still, unlit fireplace. He sighed. 

The apartment was way too empty without Draco. Too silent. It wasn’t like he’d never been here without him before, even for a prolonged period of time - there had been business trips Draco had taken, to Lebanon and Ethiopia and Perú, and each had taken more than a week - but this time was different. Back then, he had missed him terribly, but he had been sure of his return. Now, it felt like the warmth of Draco’s presence had been drained from the walls of the building, leaving him cold and wanting.

His thoughts were interrupted by the flames in the fireplace jumping to life, green and dancing. Harry was on his feet in a matter of seconds, heart racing, and then, a tall, lean,  _ beautifully familiar _ figure stepped out of the fireplace, brushing ash from his fine, blond hair. 

Draco was wearing his dark work robes, the Gringotts emblem standing out starkly upon them, and as always, he looked ridiculously attractive in them. There had been many an evening when Harry had dragged Draco right into the bedroom upon his return from work just for looking as effortlessly handsome as he did. A part of Harry wished that he could do the same thing now. That he could just kiss him and engage him into a hot round of make-up sex and everything would be fine after, no words said. 

But then tentative, grey eyes met his, and Harry knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. They would actually have to talk about this one. Only once again, all sensible words seemed to have died in Harry’s throat.

All that he could come out with was a terribly obvious: “You’re back.”

“It would appear so,” Draco replied, with a touch of hesitation, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was. 

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them, and Harry felt horribly stupid. They didn’t  _ do _ uncomfortable silence. They argued and shouted or they bickered and made up. He wouldn’t have any of this  _ nonsense _ between them. 

“Well,” Harry forced himself to say, making his feet move to cross the distance between them. “About time. If you hadn’t turned up tonight, I might have had to blow down Blaise’s front door to get to you.”

Draco pursed his lips, but there was a twitch in his eyebrow, a tiny tell of amusement. 

“Pansy would have murdered you,” he told him, matter-of-factly.

“Wouldn’t have stopped me,” Harry shrugged. “I had bigger fish to fry. Like my stupid, posh prat of a boyfriend thinking that he somehow loves me more than I love him.” Draco gulped at that, gaze flitting to Harry’s shoulder, breaking their gaze. Harry sighed, reaching out until his fingertips grazed Draco’s. “Which, honestly, is complete bollocks,” Harry pressed on, though much softer now. “And if I didn’t adore his big head so much, I’d like to very much smash it against a wall until he sees some sense.”

“It’s true, though,” Draco muttered, with a frown on his face. “You can’t deny it, Harry.”

“Oh? Try me.”

“I was the one who confessed to you,” Draco recited. “Who fell in love with you first, and I pushed you towards making a choice. I tried not to, but we both know that’s what happened. It all worked out, in the end, but I often wonder, if the circumstances had been different…”

“What?” Harry asked, irritated now. 

“Well,” Draco shrugged. “If you’d ever even have fallen for me in the first place. Maybe we’d just have been friends, and you would have been just as happy. Maybe it was only me all along. Maybe - ouch!” Draco glared at him, rubbing the back of his head where Harry had just decked him, none-too-gently. Harry glowered right back, not cowed by Draco’s indignation.

“You deserved that!” Draco snapped. “You complete _wanker_! Do you really think that I could have been with you for _three_ _years_ if you had just dragged me along?!”

“Well,” Draco muttered. “I mean-”

“I’m completely head over heels for you, you bonehead!” Harry groaned. “I love everything about you! It might have taken me longer to realise, but that does in no way or form mean that I’m not as serious about this as you are! And I’m frankly appalled that you ever thought otherwise!”

“Oh,” Draco said weakly. His pale skin had turned slightly pink throughout Harry impassioned speech, and now he was looking at him with glassy eyes. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Harry hissed, stepping right into Draco’s personal space and putting his hand onto his neck to draw him down to Harry’s height. “And if you ever doubt my devotion for you again, Draco, I’m not going to be liable for the consequences.”

“Big words,” Draco whispered, but there was a smile on his lips. “I see your devotion to me has also improved your vocabulary.”

“Shut up,” Harry choked out and pulled him into a kiss. And that kiss was like taking his first breath after spending an hour in that damned dark lake for the second task in the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year, only much, much better. His lips moved against Draco’s with the intent to possess, to claim, and Draco’s met his in the same manner, giving as good as he got. It was neither gentle not careful but it was entirely perfect and exactly what Harry needed right now.

But then, Draco was  _ always _ what Harry needed, at every moment of every day. 

When they pulled apart enough to be able to gasp out shaky breaths against each other’s lips, they were still clinging to each other, clearly unwilling to let go. Draco’s arms had found their way around Harry’s waist, pulling them chest to chest, and Harry’s free hand was lying flat on the small of Draco’s back, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered finally, his lips brushing Draco’s as he spoke. “I never meant to make you feel insecure by not speaking to the press. I had no idea you felt that way about it, I swear.”

“You are forgiven,” Draco muttered. “If in return, you forgive me for being a self-conscious fool who projected his own insecurities onto you.”

Harry smiled and leaned in for another kiss, this one much sweeter. 

Then, the alarm clock on their oven chimed, alerting them that their dinner was done. Draco groaned.

“Shut that stupid thing up, will you?” he grumbled, leaning in to kiss Harry again. Harry laughed.

“I made your favourite dish, you prat. You don’t get to complain about that.”

“That’s lovely, but I’d much rather eat you, if you don’t mind.”

The laughter got stuck in Harry’s throat, amusement swept aside by a wave of desire so strong that it was all he could do to prevent himself from taking Draco on the spot, right then and there on their couch. 

“One moment,” he muttered, disentangling himself from Draco’s embrace, ignoring the other man’s pitiful whine with an Erumpent-like-effort, and hurrying over to the kitchen. He switched off the oven, pulled out the gratin and put a stasis charm on the dish. When he was done, he turned back to Draco.

“Bedroom,” he commanded, his voice low and full of intent. “Now.”

Draco didn't have to be told twice. He made for the door immediately, pushing out of his work robes as if in an afterthought. He carelessly threw them into the direction of the sofa, not looking back to check whether he had hit it. It was a gesture so curiously unlike Draco that it made Harry grin.

“Eager, are we?” he teased, purposefully slowing his pace as he followed him into the adjourning room, only teasingly lifting the hem of his violet Portree shirt, revealing just a glimpse of skin. 

The noise Draco made in response was feral, and Harry’s grin widened. 

“You, Potter,” he hissed, taking two steps until he was back in Harry’s personal space, and Harry found himself shoved roughly against the cupboard next to the door. “Are the world’s most horrible cocktease, and I won’t have it. Not today. Not after spending two nights by myself in Blaise and Pansy’s guest room, watching my hosts eye fuck each other from every corner of the house. I’m not in the mood for your games tonight. You have some grovelling to do, after all. And you can do it on your back, naked.”

“I distinctly recall you apologising, as well,” Harry snorted. “Why do I have to do all the grovelling?”

“Because in the grand scheme of things, Potter, my offence was minor, compared to yours.”

“Be that as it may, I already apologised, and made a grand, public gesture,” Harry argued, tipping his head thoughtfully, but the effect was ruined by the utter amusement in his voice and on his face. “Shouldn’t it be your turn to-”

“Shut up,” Draco moaned and attached his lips to the bare stretch of his neck that Harry had bared. Harry shuddered and took a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed. His head fell back against the cupboard with a soft, thudding sound. “Shut up and get naked,” Draco murmured, against his skin, and the sensation sent Harry’s nerves on fire. 

Not waiting for Harry to regain his senses enough to follow his orders, Draco’s fingers found the hem of his T-shirt, and he pulled away to tug it over Harry’s head. It got stuck on Harry’s jaw for a moment, and he spluttered and flailed, causing Draco to relent some of the force and urgency and remove to article more carefully. He left Harry no time to catch his breath after, long, elegant fingers going right to work in undoing the fastening of his joggers and hooking them into the waistband of his bands, pushing both down his legs in an abrupt movement that almost made Harry stumble.

“Blimey, Draco,” Harry cursed. “Slow down, will you?”

“No,” Draco said simply, defiantly, stepping back to undo his own button-down shirt with quick, efficient movements. “Get out of the rest of those and into bed, Potter. I mean it. If you’re not in there by the time I’m done, you won’t like the consequences.”

For a moment, Harry considered, just for the sake of it, to defy Draco. Riling his partner up like that could sometimes lead to the most pleasurable results in the bedroom. But then he caught onto the desperation in Draco’s movements as he divested himself of his own clothing, and changed his mind. 

Draco needed him, and the last thing Harry was going to do was deny him that. Especially when the feeling was so entirely mutual. 

So he kicked his joggers and pants off the rest of the way and toed off his socks before crawling into bed, stretching out on his back leisurely. He threw a look over to where Draco had frozen in his movements, his hands still on the zipper of his trousers. 

“Well?” Harry smiled. “I thought you were in a hurry?”

Draco groaned and pushed his trousers down, and then he was on top of Harry in lightning speed, pale, hot skin all over his own. Harry almost sobbed in pleasure, his arms tightening around Draco’s waist. 

Merlin, it had only been a couple of days, but he had missed this  _ so much. _

“Harry,” Draco breathed, fingers threading through his hair, and then, he was pulled into another breathtaking kiss, Draco’s tongue stroking his with such reverence that he felt it all through his body, like a touch on his hard cock. Lost in the sensation, Harry bucked into Draco, feeling the length of his lover’s erection brush against his own. They both moaned into the kiss. 

Harry reached out one hand, barely conscious of the action, and a moment later, a little vial of clear, sticky liquid flew into his palm. He poked it into Draco’s ribs to alert him, and the fact that Draco just took it from his hand without commenting on his thoughtless use of wandless magic told him more about how far gone Draco was than anything else ever could. 

Draco uncorked the bottle with shaky fingers, coating both hands generously with it. One hand immediately went to Harry’s swollen prick. Harry groaned and instinctively moved his hips into Draco’s touch, intoxicated by the way the other knew just how to touch him, knew all his quirks and weaknesses, knew just how to drive them around the bend in the minimum required time. 

Draco’s other hand pushed Harry’s legs apart, and he spread himself willingly, pulling his knees up to give Draco better access. Then, he felt the gentle but insistent probing of slick fingers, only the slightest touch sending shivers down his spine. Draco’s other hand stroked his cock a little firmer, making Harry stutter his name, and then, the first finger slipped into him. 

Again, Draco wasted no time. It was a blessing and a curse, having a partner that knew him so well, Harry thought as Draco’s finger found his prostate on the first try and worked it relentlessly. Harry shouted, his back arching off the bed, but Draco used his other hand around the base of his shaft to keep him grounded, to keep him from squirming too much. 

Another finger entered him, and then another, in quick succession, until all Harry could think, breath and feel was Draco. Only then, when he was on the brink of his orgasm just from Draco’s touch, did the other pull away. 

Harry sobbed, ready to beg for release, but he didn’t need to. Draco wasn’t out to tease him, not tonight. Instead, he was back in a matter of seconds, pressing an urgent kiss to Harry’s lips the same moment as he pushed into his body in one long, even thrust. 

The relief of having Draco inside of him was indescribable. Like two halves coming together as one, he thoughts fuzzily, but then, Draco started moving, long, deep thrusts filled with intent, and Harry lost all ability to string thoughts together. He fisted one hand in sweaty blond hair, keeping Draco’s lips against his even though their kiss was messy and cut by moans and gasps, still finding himself unable to stop.

Harry’s other hand was slung around Draco’s shoulder, and he could feel every muscle working in Draco’s body, every quiver of pleasure, and it made his head spin. 

Draco brushed Harry’s prostate with every instroke, and Harry was  _ so bloody close _ he could taste his release in the back of his throat. He knew if they kept going, he would come untouched, but by the erratic increase of speed in Draco’s thrust, he could tell that the other wasn’t going to last that long.

“Draco,” he moaned against his lips. “Please-”

It was enough. Draco shifted his weight onto one elbow so he could slide one hand between their bodies to touch Harry’s erection. Harry gasped.

It didn’t take long after that. Draco had barely run his fingers up and down his leaking shaft twice, his thumb lingering near the head in teasing circles, and Harry could feel his toes curl as it all began to tip over and he was coming, so hard that he knew nothing but Draco’s touch for a long, long time. 

When he came to again, Draco was still clinging to him, thrusting into him at a desperate pace. Still dizzy from the intensity of his own orgasm, Harry kissed Draco’s cheek, his temple, and then his ear. 

“Come on,” he whispered. “Come for me, Draco.”

Draco’s breath hitched, and he thrust deep into Harry again, once, twice, and then he tensed, a single, almost pained sound tearing from his throat in the midst of pleasure. Harry held him tight through his climax and then stroked his hair back as he came down from it, allowing him to collapse onto his chest in a heavy, sweaty mess. 

“Oh Merlin,” he breathed. “Oh. I needed that. Oh please, don’t stop doing that.”

Harry smiled and kept running his blunt nails tenderly over Draco’s skull. 

“I could tell,” Harry said softly. “For what it’s worth, I enjoyed your urgency.”

Draco smiled lazily without opening his eyes. 

“Well, good,” he sighed. “Because, according to certain newspapers, I’m supposed to stay with you long term. So it would be bad if you didn’t enjoy that.”

Harry grinned and closed his eyes.

“Draco,” he scolded gently. “Don’t you know better than to believe everything the papers say?”

Draco just snorted, not dignifying that with a response. 

 

_ Saturday, 5th June 2002 _

 

“You’re sure this is a good idea, Potter?” Draco teased, bumping against his side up in the air of that empty training ground he had arranged for the occasion, gently enough that Harry didn’t even sway on his broom. “If I roughen you up for tomorrow’s match against the Magpies, I’ll never hear the end of it from your coach.”

Harry snorted. “You and roughening me up?”

“Hey,” Draco glared. “Are you mocking my Quidditch prowess on my  _ birthday?!” _

“I would  _ never _ ,” Harry swore solemnly, though a small smile drew the corners of his lips upwards. “Much less on your sacred  _ birthday _ . No, I just meant to say that you love me way too much to, as you put it, ‘roughen me up’.”

“You do remember who I am, right?” Draco snorted. “We’ve landed each other on hospital wing more times than I can count.”

“That was a long time ago,” Harry laughed. “Feels like an entirely different lifetime sometimes.”

“Well, one thing definitely hasn’t changed,” Draco smirked, glancing sideways at him, and he looked so stunningly beautiful in the late morning sunlight that it took Harry’s breath away. “No matter how big of a name in the Quidditch league you are nowadays, I’m  _ not _ just going to let you win.”

And with that, he dove down to where he had caught sight of the Snitch.

Harry smiled and dove after him, though at maybe seventy percent of his possible speed. He did not want Draco to catch on because he’d be furious knowing that Harry was letting him win this one, but Harry had a carefully laid out plan here, and for that, Draco actually needed to catch the Snitch. 

So Harry caught up to him, staying close enough so that Draco felt chased, but not actually overtaking him. And when Draco’s hand reached out and his fingers closed around the tiny golden ball, Harry bit down on his own victorious grin.

“Yes!” Draco shouted, turning to grin at Harry. “Take that, big shot! Looks like you can take on all the Garcías and Amaris and Krums of the world but if it comes to one Draco Malfoy -”

But then, quite suddenly, he stopped talking, frowning as he looked back to the Snitch in his hand. Harry’s heart jumped when he saw that it had opened in Draco’s palm, just as it should have.

This part had taken some planning - Harry had had to pull some strings to get his hands on a brand new Snitch, and he’d made sure Draco had been the first person to catch it, had made sure that the Snitch would remember Draco’s touch, the same way the first Snitch Harry had ever caught had remembered his. 

Only this time, Harry had placed a completely different kind of treasure on the inside of the golden ball, hoping it would be revealed the moment Draco caught it a second time. 

Draco’s fingers were shaking as he removed the silver ring from the inside of the Snitch, his eyes wide as he stared at it. Then, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing, his gaze searched Harry’s again, questioning. 

Harry flew just that tiny bit closer to him until he was hovering right in front of him. He took his free hand, entwining their fingers.

“Marry me, Draco,” he whispered. 

Draco kept staring at him, speechless. Harry gulped, clutching Draco’s hand for dear life as his heart pounded in his chest. Maybe he should have prepared more of a speech, Harry reflected. Maybe this wasn’t enough. Maybe -

“Yes,” Draco breathed out, a smile slowly spreading over his lips and into his eyes, which were suddenly shining like diamonds in the sunlight.

Harry grinned back, relief so strong that he felt that he could have stayed up in the air even without a broom.

“So,” Draco said softly, looking at the ring. “Am I supposed to put this on myself, or…?”

“No,” Harry said hastily, letting go of his other hand to take the ring from him. The Snitch closed back up and flew away. “I can do that.” 

Draco grinned and held out his left hand. Harry softly cradled it with his own left and used his right to slip the ring onto the third finger. It was a perfect fit, thankfully. 

When Harry finally met Draco’s eyes again, those grey orbs were glossed over with so many emotions that Harry couldn’t do anything but pull him in for a lingering kiss. The late spring wind was blowing the hair into their faces, but none of them cared as they held onto each other, balancing on their brooms as they sealed their promise for a joined future. 

When they pulled away what felt like hours later, they were both a little out of breath, and Harry’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard. Draco grinned as he looked at him, but then coughed and attempted for a stern look. 

“So,” he said, in a voice that boded for trouble. “You  _ let me win _ ?”

Harry threw his head back and laughed. The Snitch rushed past their ears as if taunting them with all the trouble ahead. 

Harry couldn’t  _ wait _ for it, to be honest, because trouble including Draco was the best kind. 


End file.
